Love Locks
by Angleterre97
Summary: They had fought, again. How can this keep going? How can their love endure? Francis wont let it end, not when his love for Arthur is so strong.


If it had been any other person, the scene would have been incredibly funny to Francis. But, as t stood, it wasn't just any other person, and the sight before him made his heart hurt and stomach turn in knots.

It was two in the morning and his lover was sitting against the side of the bridge, locks of all shapes and sizes digging into his back. His head was in his hands, and he was sobbing. Francis wanted to go to him, to comfort him, to hold him close. But, he had the sneaking suspicion that if he did, Arthur would push him away. Hell, in the drunken state he was surly in it wasn't a stretch to think that the Brit might even try to heave him off the bridge and into the Seine. They had had quite the fight after all.

It had started with something pointless, but had ended with Arthur storming out the door and into the night. Francis knew he would just end up at the bar down the street so he let him go. For hours he sat on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand that he knew he would never drink from. He wracked his brain. How had it come to this? How does it always come down to this...

Eventually, as he saw how late it was getting, he knew he had to go and retrieve Arthur. If he didn't now he would receive a phone call from the bar tender in and hour or so anyways, and he didn't want the nice man behind the counter to have to bother. But when he got there the Brit was no where to be seen.

The bar tender said that he was there about thirty minute earlier, and told Francis which way he had went.

"Said something about a bridge and a fucking stupid promise." One patron who had been sitting by him recounted. The Frenchman thanked him and set off to find the other.

And that is how Francis ends up finding the sorry looking figure propped against the seemingly endless expanse of locks. Each one a snap shot of different love stories, the beginnings, middles, and ends lost to the world around them. Each one a promise to forever.

Arthur noticed Francis before he could advance any further. He looked up, tear stains streaked down his face flushed from alcohol. He looked miserable, like his entire world had fallen out from under him, but even so, he laughed.

"I must be a lot more drunk than I think I am," He called out to the Frenchman. "Cause I thought I knew right where it was, and I can't seem to find the damn thing."

And he dissolved into another fit of sobs. Francis knew what he was looking for.

"What did you plan to do, once you found it _mon cher_?" He asked as he walked over to him and sat down on the sidewalk next to him. He might get pushed away or thrown into the river, but he decided that he would have to take his chances. He didn't want to lose something he held so dear.

"I don't fucking know." Arthur admitted as he wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. "I was going to throw it into the water and curse your name all to hell, but then I remembered I don't have a key to get it off with."

"_Oui,_ we tossed it over when we put the lock on the bridge. It's tradition."

"Well it's a bloody stupid tradition if you ask me."

"I'm not asking you."

"Of course you're not, you don't give two fucks about my opinions, you shit-headed frog."

"We can't keep doing this Arthur..."

"...I know."

They sat there listening to the water of the Seine flow beneath them for some time, Arthur wiping at his nose from time to time. He had stormed off without even grabbing a coat. How typical, Francis thought to himself as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the others shivering frame.

"Normally I don't enjoy you getting so drunk."

"But you do this time? What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

Francis smiled, just a little smile. "Because, you couldn't find our lock, so you didn't take it off."

"Yeah, so what?"

"So, that means it's still there, and our love will continue to be."

"Is that another part of the fucking tradition?" Arthur asked bitterly.

"_Oui_, don't you remember anything about the day we put it on here?"

Arthur nodded slowly. "I remember how happy you were...Why do we fight like this Francis? I can't fucking stand it."

"Perhaps it is simply meant to be, but who's to say? We've made it this long, I'd say that we are doing just fine."

"Three whole years..."

Francis smirked. "I'm surprised you remember, you being so drunk."

"Oh shut up frog," Arthur snorted, slugging Francis in the arm lightly. His crying had stopped and the puffiness in his eyes was beginning to go down. "Honestly, did you really think I'd forget?"

"Of course not, _je suis desole." _

"Can we go home? I think I'm starting to sober up..."

Francis nodded, helping his boyfriend to his feet.

"And Fran...I'm sorry for all the trouble..."

"Don't be _mon amour_, I wouldn't want you to be any other way."

"Really?"

"Well...perhaps you could stand to be a better cook..."

"You pompous arse! I can't even...Oh you're lucky I still love you!"

"That I certainly am. _Je t'aime aussi mon petit lapin._"

He smiled, taking his love's hand to lead him home. And as they made their way through the sleeping streets of Paris, the eternal city of love, the Frenchman mused quietly to himself. Him and Arthur may be as different as the sun and the moon, and they may fight like there is truly something to win and to lose, but when it comes down to it, when tensions are high and words might be said, their love is still like a lock on a bridge. A story that can withstand even the toughest test of time.

/OOO/

**My friend sort of gave me the idea for this story and I'm so glad I finally got around to writing it!**


End file.
